A spoiled rich boy? That was what he pictured?

Malachi returned his focus forward. Looked down at his hands, subtly turning one of them over. Soft hands, or so Mister Tully had claimed, but he'd be lying if he said they'd always been that way.

"Something like that," he replied, not bothering to raise his voice much above a mutter.

"You shouldn't talk with food in your mouth."

Was that a hint of indignation? Light, though, nearly transparent. Almost like the priest cared less about the manners and more about steering the conversation away from himself.

Francis looked pleased that he could have guessed right. The man who was chopping carrots seemed too fair, besides were most priests educated?

He grabbed the ingredients he wanted and very cautiously tossed in some salt and a bay leaf. He had eyed some that he had never personally used before and others he wanted but he wouldn't risk being in trouble over. Once he'd completed the difficult task, he returned to the table beside Brennan. He had grabbed something on the way and held it behind his back.

"Almost done?" He looked from the knife up to his face unbothered by being so close to an armed man. Showing his bravery or foolishness, he leaned towards his ear and spoke in a low voice, similar to the dramatic whisper earlier. "I have something I must beg of you, father. I can not do it on my own."

He pressed something to the priest's arm. It was round and hard. In his hand was a large onion. "Onions make me cry.."

Malachi blinked. Once, twice; processing what exactly the beggar had just whispered so close to his ear.

He looked without turning his head, caught the sight of the onion in the corner of his eye. Something curved his mouth into the makings of a smile, but whether it was amusement or something else behind the expression, it was unclear.

"I wouldn't want you to cry," returned Malachi, in a voice that suggested quite the opposite.

With a small swivel and a swift motion of his arm, the blade pierced through the onion with an apparent lack of care for the man holding it. Malachi didn't skewer it through, however -- he didn't actually stab any of Mister Tully's fingers.

He only made it clear that if he wanted, there was a chance that maybe, possibly, he could.

"I'll take care of this for you," Malachi set the onion down. "Bring me anything else you need cut, too. There's no need to beg."

Francis had been smiling throughout the exchange until the knife pierced the onion. He didn't even need to see because he'd let go when he saw the movement in surprise, and the onion hadn't fallen. He slowly looked down then back up at the man who'd been working on carrots. He was glad he hadn't crossed the line in his teasing. As much as he said, and even going as far as pushing the vegetable to the man, he'd never actually touched him. Would this guy pierce him just as easily, he was thinking he might.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Francis had come to terms with the brevity of life a long time ago and his was very cheap. "You are so very compassionate towards me. Thank you, I think maybe a potato but I can do that since your hands are full." He smiled but didn't go to grab the potato from the other side of the table. He leaned on one hand against the table and let his head lean over to the side so that it was almost parallel with his shoulder as he peered at the priest in absolute curiosity. He was careful not to be too close though, and he would remember that next time the man held a knife.

"I shared a deep secret with you... won't you share something with me? I am finding you to be quite the puzzle. And you know I wouldn't tell anyone, who would listen anyway?" He highly doubted the man would utter a word, but it never hurt to ask. He was clearly at a disadvantage with the tall dark haired man.

Malachi did not miss the fact that, in spite of what he said about grabbing other ingredients, Mister Tully did not step away to get them. That in itself didn't seem to bother the priest, who pushed the carrots aside and began his new task of cutting up the onion. He did not lift his head when questioned, dark hair partially shadowing his face as he worked.

"Share something with you?" he repeated. There was the quietest hint of laughter at the farthest edges of his voice.

"I'm not sure what I would tell you, I'm afraid. I have no secrets."

Francis knelt down with his arms folded on the table and his chin resting on them to peer up at Brennan. It was a juvenile attempt at appearing innocent and curious, a ridiculous look on the man.

"I don't think so. But then if you have no secrets, tell me about yourself before you became a priest. I do not believe you were once a small bairn walking around with your holy wares and preaching." He chuckled with his unwavering large smile. "Tell me.." slowly one hand reached out, his fingers tapping along the table like they possessed the ability to walk. Then he snatched the potato and held it out.

"And I will hand you the final ingredient. Unless we have meat to spare."

Once the beggar had knelt down, Malachi finally glanced his way, if only for a moment. He looked back to the cutting board, continuing his task, and his hand was as comfortable bearing the knife as it was when folded for prayer.

"No, I was not reborn until later in my life," he admitted easily enough. While it might have been unusual for priests to find their vocations later on, it was not unheard of. They were an example, after all, of how God's love could turn one's life around, no matter how old they were when they found it.

"I worked for my father, before. I was an entertainer."

Finished with the onion, Malachi held out his hand, expecting the last item to be handed over.

Francis looked up curiously and pressed the potato into his hand. He kept peering up at him and gave a small nod.

"On an entertainer?? What did you do? " entertainer was such a vague term that could mean things. In back alleys, he could be considered an 'entertainer'.

"I am not meaning to pry. I am just so very curious. Perhaps it can give someone like me a new view on life and want to follow in your foot steps."

Once the final ingredient was placed in his hand, Malachi set it on the cutting board too. Held it firm with one hand, started chopping with the other, and considered just how honest he could be with a beggar that no one would ever believe.

As honest as he was with anyone else, he supposed.

"I entertained people," answered Malachi.

Or, more aptly, he'd provided a service. But he had always preferred to think of himself as an entertainer, because it had at least been entertaining for him. He did not elaborate further, chopping the potato into smaller pieces and setting them aside with the rest of the vegetables.

"You should not concern yourself with the life of a priest. We are merely stand-ins, not people to follow for the details of who we are."

Francis eyed him curiously as he chopped and then sat up, simply leaning on his elbows. "That is a sad way to think. You are also still people who struggle more than most since you aren't allowed to have as much fun. You must set an example to those who look to you. So I am curious about the man behind the holy facade."

He rest his chin on the back of his hand and looked positively serene. " But I will not push if you do not wish to talk about it. "He was more curious as the priest did not want to tell him, but he would behave. The last thing he needed was to give this man the trouble of having to hide a body after his knife 'slipped'. "You can feel at ease to speak to me at any time though. No one cares what I know and my secret is far more dangerous to me than perhaps anything you have."